Outcaste: Book Six in the Chronicles of Alsea

by Fletcher DeLancey

  “Except the theft report was filed by my father,” she interrupted, getting angrier with every word. “I confessed just to avoid him inscribing me in the merchant caste. My mother cancelled the report and supported my challenge. We filed an appeal at the caste house, but it’s been sitting Fahla knows where for two moons now.”

  He looked her over. “Merchant caste, eh?”

  She glared at him.

  “You’re no merchant. No one does what you just did without several cycles of training.” He took a more relaxed stance, his cape swaying slightly with the movement. “Do you work for this merchant? He hired you to keep the sea sludge away?”

  “No. I was just here picking up a few things to take home. Those two came in and threatened to break the shop. I got offended at that.”

  For some reason, that made him smile. “I see. I’ve been finding quite a few examples of poor procedures and inefficiency since I took command. Your case sounds like one of them. Give me your full name and I’ll look into it.”

  Her ire sputtered to a halt. “You’ll . . . huh.”

  He pulled his reader card from a holster at his belt. “Not so angry now?”

  The commander of Whitesun Base—the colonel she had called a uniform and been rude to—was going to look into her case. She could hardly find her voice. “Um. No. I . . . thank you.”

  Ten ticks later, she was on her way home with a basket of food that Chataran had refused to let her pay for and a promise from Colonel Shantu that she would hear from the caste house within one nineday.

  She could not wait to call her mother.

  33

  DREAMS

  When the knock sounded on her door three days after the stave fight, Rahel wondered how Jacon had gotten in the building without calling her first. He was early for evenmeal, but she had everything ready.

  She opened her door and stood stunned at the sight of Colonel Shantu in his uniform.

  “Well met, Rahel,” he said, holding up a palm.

  “Well met, Colonel Shantu.” She was operating on automatic courtesy, because she had no idea what to do with the reality of a high-ranking warrior at her door.

  “May I enter?”

  “Um. Yes, of course.” She moved back and watched him walk past her, his half cape fluttering slightly with his steps. Even as he brushed by, she sensed nothing from him.

  He reached the center of her living area and turned. “I’ve looked into your case. The technicality that held up your challenge is a joke. It’s been taken care of.”

  “What . . . what does that mean?”

  “It means that if you report to the caste house tomorrow morning, you can take your tests. Based on your record and what I saw three days ago, you’ll have no trouble at all. The one thing I cannot predict is the ethics and morals test. But given that you jumped to the defense of a merchant for no reason other than outrage at a pair of bullies, I think you’ll sail through that one as well.”

  She wobbled to her couch and sat. “Tomorrow morning.”

  “Yes. Pending the results, I expect you to be a warrior by tomorrow afternoon.”

  The words repeated over and over in her mind: A warrior by tomorrow afternoon. She had dreamed of this since she was thirteen, and it had always been ripped from her grasp. Now it was being held in front of her. She was afraid to reach for it.

  “I apologize for the inexcusable delay. It’s precisely the kind of thing I want to eliminate from our protocols.”

  “Why are you here?” she asked. Surely the commander of Whitesun Base did not make personal visits to would-be warriors.

  “I have a proposal for you. But perhaps I should wait until you’ve recovered from your shock.”

  She took in his amused expression with growing suspicion. He was reading her emotions.

  She had let a high empath warrior into her home. A base commander who had done her a personal favor and now had a “proposal.” She was alone with him and her stave was out of reach.

  What had she been thinking? It was just another trap. Of course he wasn’t here to hand over her dreams. Of course he had an agenda.

  His expression shifted to a slight frown as he tilted his head, skimming her though she could not feel it, and her suspicion blossomed into fear. She jumped to her feet, dizzy with relief at the ability to move, and raced to the shelf that held her stave.

  “Rahel—”

  “Get out,” she snarled, whirling as her stave extended. “Get out now.”

  “I’m not here to hurt you.” He held his hands at chest level, palms outward.

  She laughed, a wild sound that ended in a gasp. “Is that what you say before you tear me apart?”

  His expression turned to stone. “Whoever did that to you does not deserve to breathe free air. Was it a warrior?”

  Her breath was shuddering in her lungs, dragging up and down her throat as if she were breathing through a pinhole. “He’s dead. Leave before I do the same to you.”

  “No,” he said calmly. “I am not that person.”

  She stared at him, her panic receding as his relaxed stance registered. “I’m not selling what you want.”

  “I’m not here to buy anything. Or take it by empathic force. I’m here with an offer, nothing more.”

  He stood there, hands up, watching and waiting. He had not taken a step toward her, and she could still move.

  She retracted her stave and let out a defeated exhale. “I guess you’ll want to reject my challenge now.”

  “For defending yourself? I think not.” He indicated the chair behind him. “May I sit?”

  She nodded and set her stave back on the shelf. “I apologize. I, um, made an assumption.”

  “As I made one three days ago, assuming you were something you were not. I apologize for that as well. Shall we start over again?”

  “That would be—yes, please. Let’s start over.” When she returned to the couch, she sat a little closer to him.

  “Very good. Then I must start with the question: Who empathically raped you?”

  There was no hiding from this. He would know if she lied. But he hadn’t withdrawn his support even after her threat, so perhaps she was safe.

  “He didn’t . . . finish. I didn’t let him.”

  “You killed him.”

  She nodded.

  “Good.” He smiled at her surprise. “You thought I would make noises about proper prosecution and punishment? No. There is no violation worse than what he attempted. You had every right to defend yourself. Was he a warrior?”

  She nodded again.

  “Then I’m even more glad you killed him. He was a stain on our caste. Had he been caught, he would have been thrown into the fifth level of the Pit and never seen the sun again. That is a death of one kind. You meted out a death of another. Either way, the punishment is the same.”

  She lifted her head, her spine straightening as a burden she hadn’t been aware of left her shoulders. The highest authority in this part of the Pallea continent knew what she had done and . . . approved.

  “Are you going to do anything about . . . I mean, don’t you want to know—”

  “Has the body been found?”

  “No.”

  “Are we going to find it?”

  “I don’t think so. I didn’t hide it,” she added. “But the place where it happened . . . it’s not the sort of place that reports things like that.”

  “I see. And what were you doing in that place?”

  “Looking for my best friend.” The pain was familiar by now. “I was too late.”

  He watched her in silence. “I am very sorry for your loss. But you fought and defeated an empathic rapist. That puts you in a very tiny minority. Was your best friend also a warrior?”

  Mouse would have laughed at the question.

  “No.”

  “Then they had no chance at all. And you had almost none. Mourn your friend, but do not blame yourself.”

  “Because it was not within my power to save h
im.” Sharro was right, and Colonel Shantu was saying the same thing, but it was still hard to accept.

  “It was not.” He settled back into a more casual position. “I’m even more certain now that you’re the right person for my proposal. Assuming that you pass your tests tomorrow, and I have no doubt that you will, I would like to sponsor you into our caste.”

  That didn’t make sense. She repeated the words in her head. They still didn’t make sense.

  “Why?”

  “Several reasons. One, you impressed me the other day. Both with your skills and your attitude. Two, you have a background that most warriors lack. It’s not often we get candidates who have survived as outcastes. That takes determination, resourcefulness, and strength. Three, you not only survived, you did it as a warrior with honor. You have no criminal record other than a theft report which was filed by one parent and cancelled by the other. I spoke with the City Guard who handled your case. He had several things to say about the situation.”

  She lowered her gaze, embarrassed, then raised it again at his next words.

  “I also spoke with Deme Isanelle and Kiral Hasil.” He pronounced the honorific for Hasil with respect. “They had things to say as well, about how you fought for two cycles to continue your training and education despite every obstacle in your path. Deme Isanelle added a few observations about your honor.”

  He leaned forward, his gaze intent. “You’re the ideal candidate for a position I have in mind. I need a Guard who lives outside our system. One who doesn’t wear the uniform, but works for me with the same dedication and loyalty as any Alsean Defense Force Guard. I need someone who can move around the city without attracting attention. There are problems here that vanish at the sight of a City Guard or ADF uniform, and most of those warriors are still easily identified even without their uniforms. You, on the other hand—you’ve been an outcaste. You’re used to moving in the shadows, aren’t you?”

  She thought of all the nights she and Mouse had walked through alleys, the trash bins they had raided, the fights she’d had against bullies in those same shadows . . .

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Work for me. Pass your tests tomorrow, and I’ll pay for all of your training expenses until your Rite of Ascension—on the condition that after your Rite, you will swear your oath to me for a minimum of five cycles. You will start at the rank of Guard and carry the responsibilities of that position, but you will answer only to me.”

  It was surreal. She could not believe that Colonel Shantu, commander of Whitesun Base, was sitting in her home offering every one of her dreams. With no agenda other than that she would be his personal warrior.

  Perhaps someone else would have wanted the uniform, or to be part of a larger unit. But she had always been on her own. The idea of being able to keep her independence, even after swearing to serve, was not something she had ever considered. Now that it was an option, she could not see herself wanting anything else.

  “I hope you won’t be offended by this.” She rose from the couch and held up a palm. “Will you prove that you mean it?”

  He stood as well, meeting her palm with a steady gaze. “This is not a trick. I’m offering an exchange of value. My sponsorship for your skills.”

  His sincerity came through his skin.

  “You can take some time to think about it if—”

  “No,” she said. “I don’t need any time. I accept.”

  34

  WARRIOR

  Her mother came to Whitesun for the challenge.

  They rode the magtran to the central park and walked through the door of the caste house together. In the lobby, Ravenel gave Rahel a kiss on the cheek for luck and sent her off with a confident smile.

  The written exams were easy. The oral test was more difficult because both of her examiners had higher empathic ratings than she did. They gave nothing away through their fronts or their facial expressions, and she faltered in her first answers with a conviction that she was saying everything wrong. Then she decided that it didn’t matter if they approved or not. She could only be honest and let them make their own judgments.

  At the end, she sat in nervous silence while they conferred with each other in whispers. When they finally turned, they were smiling.

  “Congratulations,” said the man. “Your answers were excellent. We have your written test scores here as well.”

  “You’re already in.” The woman rose and leaned over the table, offering her forearm. “Welcome to our caste, warrior.”

  “I’m—I’m in? But I haven’t taken the physical exam.” Rahel clasped the examiner’s forearm, then repeated the gesture with the man.

  “Technically, you don’t need to. Your score is already over the minimum for entry,” the woman said. “But of course we’re interested in what else you have to offer.”

  Rahel followed them to the training room in a daze. She was in. She was already in. This last test was just . . . extra.

  She hopped into the air, a grin threatening to break her cheeks. This was going to be fun.

  With nothing to lose, she threw herself into the test, demonstrating her proficiency in hand-to-hand and then sparring with a stave user who was truly an artist with the weapon. It was glorious. When he bowed to her at the end, she wanted to kiss everyone in the room.

  Two and a half hanticks after leaving the lobby, Rahel reentered with a beaming smile she could not control. Ravenel took one look and swept her into a joyous warmron, laughing and telling her that she had never doubted. Then she offered the wrapped package she had arrived with.

  Inside was a formal full-length cape in the crimson color of the warrior caste. For the second time in her life, Rahel cried from happiness.

  Five ticks later, she wore her new cape as she was inscribed into the caste. At the point in the ceremony when she was asked for her choice of names, she proudly took her mother’s.

  Colonel Shantu kept his word and paid her training expenses for the next three cycles. He was a shadow sponsor, his name never appearing on any of her official files. But he was much more than a shadow to Rahel. She made regular visits to his office at Whitesun Base, often late in the evening after she had talked with Mouse at Dock One. She would report on her training, answer his questions, ask many of her own, and get into complex discussions with him. Before long, he was as much her mentor as Deme Isanelle or Hasil.

  As the cycles moved past and their discussions inevitably grew more personal, their relationship deepened. He became the father she had not had since she was thirteen. She heard the gossip about him, knew that he was seen as arrogant and proud, but that was not her Colonel Shantu. Her Shantu was kind, though she would admit his kindness was hidden beneath a firm exterior. He had an odd sense of humor that she felt privileged to see, because it was rarely displayed in public. He was philosophical and far-seeing, always working for the best interests of their caste and Alsea. Honor was of the utmost importance to him, and she was proud that her own honor had been the first thing that made him take notice of her.

  On Rahel’s twentieth birth anniversary, she and her mother went to Whitesun Temple for her Rite of Ascension. It could have been done in the warrior caste house, but as Ravenel said, Fahla herself must have been looking out for Rahel when she met Mouse and then Sharro, when she fought off an empathic rapist, and when her stave fight with a bully attracted the attention of the passing Colonel Shantu.

  “She was looking out for me when a City Guard talked me into giving him your name at the detention center, too,” Rahel said. “Don’t leave yourself out. The moment you came back into my life is the moment everything changed.”

  With tears in her eyes, Ravenel pulled her into a tight warmron that lasted a very long time. “I can’t let go,” she said in a choked voice. “It’s my last one. You’ll be an adult after this.”

  “Mother.” Rahel spoke in a whisper so the templars could not hear. “Sharro makes a living giving warmrons to people who need them. She’s been giving
them to me since I was sixteen. I don’t care a fanten fart for that taboo, so if you want, we’ll have warmrons forever. And I hope you want it. I don’t intend to stop.”

  “You never did do anything the way you were supposed to, did you?”

  “No, but look where it got me.”

  “Hm. We’ll see.” Her mother let go and kissed her on both cheeks, but Rahel knew what would happen. Ravenel would go to Sharro’s house that night, because that was where she always stayed now during visits to Whitesun, and they would discuss this over a bottle of Whitesun Rise. By tomorrow morning, Ravenel would be convinced. Sharro always had that effect on her.

  That afternoon, Rahel held a small, private celebration at the end of Dock One. Attending were her mother, Sharro, Jacon, her brother and sister—with whom she had tentatively established a new relationship, though none of them really understood one another—and Colonel Shantu. His gift to her was a sword.

  Ravenel’s gift was a new cape, because Rahel had outgrown her old one.

  Jacon catered their little party with food from the restaurant he had opened three moons earlier. When Rahel could speak with him alone, she said, “Mouse told me you’d open a restaurant. He said you’d have a chain of them across Whitesun within a tencycle.”

  “That’s my plan.” Jacon sipped his summer cider and gazed across the bay. “I wish he could be here to see this.”

  “He is,” Rahel said. “He’s always here.”

  At sunset, she donned her new cape, extended her sword, and swore her oath of service to the man who had given her all of her dreams—and become family as well.

  “I stand before you with a clear heart and an honorable name,” she said, her voice shaking slightly with the import of the moment. “I wish to serve you in any capacity I am able. I place my strength between you and harm, my sword between you and your enemies, and my last breath between you and death. This I swear in Fahla’s name. I am Rahel Periso Sayana, and I ask this gift of you: Will you accept my service?”

  She let the sword fall to a horizontal position, catching the flat of the blade on her other palm, and dropped to one knee with her head down.